


People Will Say We're In Love

by Wrench_Wench



Series: Fics from Wrench_Wench's Tumblr [17]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Cross-Posted on Tumblr, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-12 22:03:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16880058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrench_Wench/pseuds/Wrench_Wench
Summary: A series of inter-connected, non-chronological drabbles based on the lyrics of "People Will Say We're In Love" from "Oklahoma!"Because nothing says vigilante romance like classic Rodgers and Hammerstein musicals.-Originally posted to tumblr in 2011





	1. Verse 1

 

_Why do they think up stories that link my name with yours?_

 

Damian Wayne nearly spit out his coffee when he saw the headline for that morning’s  _Gotham Gazette_. He stared at the large, full-color image of he and Brown taking down a gang of thugs (how had they even taken that picture?) for almost a full minute before scowling and dumping the offending newsprint in the trash. The teenager stormed off, leaving his half-eaten breakfast behind. He and Fatgirl needed to have a talk.

Later, when Dick woke up and wandered into the penthouse’s kitchen, he spotted the discarded newspaper and fished it out of the garbage. Upon seeing the headline he burst out laughing.

“Batgirl & Robin: Gotham’s New Power Couple?”

 

—

_Why do the neighbors chatter all day behind their doors?_

 

Stephanie Brown was exhausted. This was a common state for her to be in, but today was particularly tiring. She had spent the previous night busting a Maroni Family weapons deal (with an assist from Robin) before returning to her apartment to finish writing a paper for her community organization class. Today she’d had a pop quiz in her policy class (and what sort of professor gives their  _graduate_  students pop quizzes, anyways?), a three hour study group, and now she had to grade tests for the class she was TA-ing. All this on top of her normal class schedule. Why had she decided to go for a dual master’s in social work  _and_ law? Somehow, Stephanie was sure, this was all Barbara’s fault. Damn her for pushing Stephanie to be all that she could be (and now she had that old Army recruitment jingle stuck in her head, damn it all).

All of this meant that Stephanie really didn’t have it in her to be her usual chipper self when her neighbor greeted her on the staircase. Mr. Petrescu was a nice, if slightly nosy, elderly man who kept offering to introduce Stephanie to his forty-year-old son. She was preparing herself for another gentle refusal when his greeting threw her for a loop.

“Stephanie, you should have told me about your boyfriend! He’s such a handsome boy, no wonder you’ve no interest in my Micheal. I suppose you were being too polite to crush my hopes, eh?”

Stephanie hoped that her smile and sheepish shrug hid her utter bafflement as she wished Mr. Petrescu good day. She hurried up the four flights of stairs to her apartment and immediately tensed up when she discovered her door was unlocked. Steph opened the door as silently as possible before edging into the living room, searching for possible intruders. When she spotted the room’s lone occupant, Stephanie wasn’t sure if she should relax or prepare for a fight.

Slouched on her ratty blue couch was a very irritated Damian Wayne.

 

—

_I know a way to prove what they say is quite untrue_

_Here is the gist: a practical list of “don'ts” for you_

 

Stephanie stared at the neatly written list in her hands with total incomprehension. Damian’s neat handwriting seemed utterly out of place on the purple Hello Kitty stationary she usually wrote grocery lists on. The list currently gracing the paper made almost no sense at all. It had something to do with her job as Batgirl, as evidenced by it’s title, “Rules for Collaboration With Robin”, but the so called “rules” were mystifying. What did he mean by “Do not act overly familiar,” and “Do not attempt to ‘rescue’ Robin”? It didn’t help that Damian had just shoved the paper into Stephanie’s hand without explanation and scowled at her.

“Damian, I am way too tired to attempt to figure out what this is all about. Just tell me.”

“Tt. The ridiculous tabloid that passes for a newspaper in this city is claiming that we are an item. Make sure it doesn’t happen again.” With a sneer worthy of Draco Malfoy, Damian turned around and strode out of Stephanie’s apartment. The current Batgirl watched him leave, even more flummoxed than before.

 

—

_Don’t throw bouquets at me_.

 

One would have thought that Grayson, who had patrolled the streets of Gotham for over a decade, would be able to avoid Poison Ivy’s traps. Unfortunately for Damian, this was not the case. So now he was fending off the attacks of his mind-controlled mentor and trying not to injure him too badly before Oracle located an antidote. All of this meant that Ivy had escaped, of course. As Damian dodged yet another spinning kick, he irately wondered what was taking his backup so long.

“Hey, Robin!”

The momentary distraction caused by hearing  _her_  voice was almost disastrous. Grayson slashed at Damian with a jagged piece of broken glass (there were some serious downsides to entering through closed windows, Damian idly observed). Unable to dodge in time, the Teen Wonder was saved by the very source of his previous distraction. Batgirl had managed to strategically swing into the greenhouse so that she landed on top of Damian’s currently deranged partner.

“So, I was thinking we’d do a little tag team since you look kinda worn out. I’ll fight B while you process the antidote.”

“What antidote?”

Batgirl laughed sheepishly before throwing a punch at Grayson’s nose, “Oh, right. I need you to grind these up for me, O says they’re legit. I managed to bully their location out of Ivy. She’s tied up outside, by the way.” With that, the blonde vigilante pulled out an odd object she’d stuck into the loop of her utility belt and threw it at Damian. Without bothering to see if he caught it, she resumed dodging Batman’s attacks.

Once he caught the item, Damian felt an involuntary blush stain his cheeks. Even though it didn’t mean anything, he still found it odd (certainly not embarrassing or flattering, what planet are you from?) that Stephanie was giving him a bouquet of flowers.

 

—

_Don’t please my folks too much_

 

I.

Talia al Ghul kept careful watch over her son. She told herself and others that she was merely monitoring an enemy of the house of Al Ghul, but she privately acknowledged it was for more personal reasons. In reviewing the reports her agents delivered, Talia noticed several worrisome things about her growing son. While Damian had adopted his father’s code of combat (a matter that was as irritating as it was expected), he seemed to eschew his father’s presence for that of Grayson. Talia had initially been vexed by such a development until she reasoned that it put her Beloved in the same situation as herself: shunned by their child in favor of the acrobat. She only hoped her son didn’t adopt his chosen mentor’s more obnoxious traits. If Damian began to make ridiculous puns, Talia would be forced to send her assassins to put the boy out of his misery.

What truly caught Talia’s attention was the fact that as he grew older, Damian seemed to spend increasing amounts of his time, both in and out of costume, with the blonde Batgirl. It had taken little effort for her agents to compile a detailed dossier on Stephanie Brown, and what Talia read did not initially impress her. The girl was lowborn, poor, and unskilled in comparison to almost all of Bruce Wayne’s proteges. Talia disapproved of her son’s association with Brown until one recent report included a photograph of the pair, in uniform, with Damian smiling.

The last time Talia saw such a smile on her son’s face was the day Damian learned he would be meeting his father.

After that, the de facto leader of the League of Assasins found herself rationalizing her sudden fondness for the blonde vigilante. Really, Brown’s accomplishments were all the more impressive when one took into account the disparity in her training and that of the other members of the “Batfamily”. Certainly, she had been tortured to near-death, but didn’t the fact that she came back from such an experience stronger than ever prove her true strength and resilience? And weren’t all of those features prized by the House of Al Ghul? Truly, Damian could associate himself with far less worthy women.

 

II.

Crystal Brown noticed the boy on the second day. She was certain that he had been there the entire time Stephanie had been in a coma, watching her window from a neighboring rooftop. He wasn’t the Robin she was used to (and he was so much younger than all the others had been), but she knew he was the one watching Stephanie’s back these days. Crystal used her position as Batgirl’s attending nurse to ensure that the window remained unlocked. She was certain that Robin would stay until Stephanie woke up.

 

III.

Damian stared after Stephanie, jaw dropped, as she stormed out of the cave. Grayson and Drake stood beside him; one barely suppressing his laughter while the other seemed frozen in shock. Father was seated at his computer, expression stern, with the vaguest outline outline of a handprint visible on his cheek.

In spite of himself, Damian found his lips forming a grin; he’s never seen anyone tell off his father like that before, much less slap him. Little did he know, Bruce was only slightly more successful at hiding his own proud smile over Batgirl’s actions.

 

—

_Don’t laugh at my jokes too much_

 

Batgirl couldn’t help but roll her eyes at Robin. She knew that he was learning, but  _still_. The middle of a fight is not the best place to try to make a drawn out comparison between their current foe and the antagonist in an epic poem.

“ _Really_  Robin? You practically quote half of  _Beowulf_  just to make a 'yo momma’ joke? We have got to work on your delivery.”

Damian scoffed, but privately vowed to improve his witty repartee.

 

—

_Don’t sigh and gaze at me_

_(Your sighs are so like mine)_

 

I.

It was a bit of a shock for Stephanie to realize that Damian would be turning sixteen in less than a month. She sighed and stared at The No-longer-boy Wonder, and tried to figure out where the years had gone.

 

II.

If Damian had to hear Grayson crack  _one_  more joke about how he was “finally developing hormones,” he would snap and maim his mentor. He had hit puberty  _years_  ago, thank you very much. He practically an adult. As he changed out of his costume Damian sighed and wished that Grayson and his father (and  _Stephanie_ …) would recognize that fact.

 

—

_Your eyes mustn’t glow like mine_

 

“I can’t believe that you’re still using such outdated hardware.”

“I use binoculars because they  _work_ , little D.”

“Tt. I don’t see why you don’t use the same lenses that Batman and I do.”

“Because whenever I use those things it impairs my peripheral vision? Not all of us are assassin babies with perfect spatial awareness that allows them to fight well even when they can’t see.”

When Batgirl went on patrol the next night, she found that her binoculars had been replaced with a new, top of the line set that had night vision and infrared settings. Robin pointedly ignored her thanks the next time she saw him.

 

—

_Don’t start collecting things_

_(Give me my rose and my glove)_

 

Damian had more of his father’s little quirks than most people realized. Probably because he was better at hiding them. For example, while Batman filled his cave with giant pennies, playing cards, and retired uniforms, Damian kept a small locked safe in the back of his closet. He regularly changed the passcode and inspected it for traces of tampering. As far a he knew, only Alfred was aware of the safe’s existence, though not its contents. If anyone did break in, they probably wouldn’t understand the significance of the items within; a lock of brown hair tied together by a silk scarf, a few newspaper clippings featuring Batman (though noticeably, only from Grayson’s tenure), a small and battered plush kitten, and the dried remains of what might have once been a (very odd) bouquet.

Tonight, Damian had acquired another item to add to his collection: a glove that had been partially destroyed by acid. He barely managed to tuck it in to his utility belt before it’s former owner came up behind him.

“Hey Robin, have you seen my glove? I know it’s ruined, but I don’t want the cops deciding to run DNA tests on it when they come to pick up the perps, you know?”

“It was probably destroyed by the acid. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Yeah, yeah, thanks for coming to my rescue, D. I owe you one.”

 

—

_Sweetheart, they’re suspecting things_

_People will say we’re in love_

 

Bruce and Tim probably should have been the first to notice, given that they were supposed to have such prowess as detectives. However, they both had a bias that kept them from seeing things clearly when it came to Damian. So Dick was the first one to notice the symptoms of youthful infatuation in his youngest brother (well, Alfred probably noticed first, but Dick could never confirm it).

Damian would stare into space, lost in thought, for long periods of time. Whenever he was interrupted, the young man’s face would light up with a blush. He would get distracted at odd moments on patrol. He was reading Shakespeare, and not just the tragedies and histories, but the  _sonnets_.

Dick spent weeks trying to covertly discover the object of Damian’s affections. He had some suspects, but couldn’t find any proof that his little brother was mooning after any of them. The former Robin had all but given up hope on the identity of Damian’s crush until they teamed up with Batgirl on patrol one night. Watching the easy banter between the younger crimefighters and the barest hints of a blush visible below Robin’s mask, Gotham’s current Batman couldn’t help the happy grin that stole across his face.

Dick couldn’t wait to give Damian advice about winning the heart of his Batgirl.


	2. Verse 2

_Some people claim you are to blame as much as I…_

_Just keep a slice of all the advice you gave so free_

 

Stephanie stormed after Damian, Hello Kitty list clutched in hand. She hoped he had taken the ancient elevator so she could beat him by taking the stairs. Damian was wearing his civvies, so there was no way he’d be taking to the roof. Irritation cleared away a great deal of Stephanie’s previous fatigue, and she managed to stomp down the stairs two at a time.

As it turned out, Damian hadn’t taken the elevator. He had also clearly heard her coming, because he was waiting for Stephanie on the landing between the second and third floor. Damian was in what Stephanie secretly called his “model pose”; leaning against the wall with his arms crossed while glaring moodily into space. At the moment, Steph really hated him for that. Why did he look so good while she looked like how an overworked person with very little rest was supposed to look?

“Really, Damian?  _Really?_ ”

“Perhaps if you gave me an actual question, I might be able to answer it.”

“It’s somehow all  _my_  fault that people think we’re together? You know, you’re not entirely blameless here!”

Damian scoffed. “What have I ever done to encourage such a view?”

Stephanie made a concerted effort not to shriek, she really didn’t want to draw her neighbors’ attention. “How about today? You come over here, looking like that, and just let yourself into my apartment. Now Mr. Petrescu thinks you’re my boyfriend. And knowing him, the rest of the building will think so too by next week.”

“I don’t care what your neighbors think.” Stephanie had to bite her tongue hard not to immediately point out the hypocrisy in that statement. “And what do you mean ‘looking like that’?”

“You look like a friggin’ underwear model. People probably think you were trying to look good for me.”

Damian’s face was oddly flushed. “I can hardly help it if I look good when I needed to speak with you. It’s not as though I’ve done anything else to make others think we’re a couple.”

Steph snorted. Damian quirked an eyebrow. “What is it? What have I done to encourage their delusions?”

Stephanie told him.

 

——

_Why do you take the trouble to bake my favorite pie?_

 

Somehow, it had become a bit of a tradition for Gotham’s current Batfamily-in-residence to share a pizza in the Batbunker following a successful team-up. Tonight they were all a little worse for wear; Batgirl and Robin were sporting a medley of scrapes and bruises courtesy of a mind-controlled Batman, while the man himself was coping with vertigo as a side-effect of the antidote. Still, no on had died, and Poison Ivy was back in her cell in Arkham, so that meant celebratory pizza.

As an act penance, Dick allowed Damian to order the pizza, instead of picking it out himself. While Damian collected their meal, Dick helped Stephanie patch up her harder to reach cuts.

“I know I told him to get whatever he wants, but I still kinda hope Damian orders pepperoni and pineapple pizza.”

“Ick. How can you eat that stuff? Besides, Mr. Chemically-Induced-Vertigo, you probably shouldn’t be eating anyway. None of us want to clean up your puke. _Besides_ besides, I’m the one who saved your butts tonight, I should have gotten to pick what we get.”

“Thanks for your concern, Batgirl. What do you hope he gets?”

“The Carnivore’s Deluxe: Pepperoni, sausage, prosciutto, and bacon on mozzarella and goat cheese.”

“That sounds more like The Heart Attack Deluxe.”

Before Stephanie could do more than open her mouth for a witty comeback, Damian arrived back at the bunker with the pizza. Both of the older crimefighters smiled; there was something immensely amusing about having Robin as their delivery boy.

“So, little D, how did it go? Did they give you any trouble?”

“Tt. They’re used to masked vigilantes by now.” Damian set the box down next to the computer console. He casually pulled out a piece and passed it to Stephanie.

“Well that takes the fun out of -” Steph cut Dick off with a cry of glee when she recognized the slice of Carnivore’s Deluxe being handed to her. Though Dick pouted over the choice of pizza, he couldn’t help but feel pride over the fact that Damian had listen to at least  _some_  of his advice about girls.

 

—–

_Granting your wish I carved our initials on the tree_

 

“What are you doing?”

“I’m letting the cops know who they have to thank for this. What does it look like?”

“You better not try to take all the credit, Fatgirl.”

“What do you take me for?” Batgirl hastily edited her message.

When the police arrived five minutes later, they found Killer Croc tightly bound and dangling from the water treatment plant’s sign. The sign itself had been graffitied with what Detective Nick Gage suspected to be lipstick.

“It’s bad enough that our sewers are infested with alligators, we don’t need Crocs as well. Love, Batgirl and Robin.”

 

—–

_Don’t praise my charm too much_

 

“You should handle this.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’re not playing 'Bad Cop, Worse Cop’ tonight. You’re better at interacting with civilians without scaring them than I am, so you talk to them.”

“Why Robin, I think that was almost a compliment.”

 

——

_Don’t look so vain with me_

 

Crises are hell on a superhero costume. It was commonly accepted fact of superheroism that after a Crisis, you would have to replace your costume. The current Batgirl and Robin had never been involved in a full-fledged Crisis before; they’d fought along the fringes, but as the most junior members of the Batfamily they were usually left out of the main event. Not this time. What had started as a routine drug bust had turned into a globe-spanning investigation and rescue operation that uncovered a vast conspiracy and ended with an epic battle between the forces of good and a long forgotten evil.

So here Batgirl was; she hadn’t slept in days, she hadn’t bathed in even longer. Her uniform in taters, her once blonde hair was grimy and matted with blood, every inch of visible skin was covered in bruises and abrasions. She staggered over to where Dr. Midnight was treating Robin’s wounds and practically collapsed next to him.

Before she passed out from exhaustion, Batgirl gave Robin a brilliant smile, flushed with victory. Robin swore he’d never seen anything more beautiful.

 

——

_Don’t stand in the rain with me_

 

I.

It was one of those miserable fall evenings when the temperature wasn’t quite low enough for snow, but there was precipitation falling anyways. And, of course, the big Bat would pick a night like this one to put Robin and Batgirl on a stakeout. Batgirl had a private suspicion that he did this whenever he was in town so that he could have the two of them out of the way while “the adults” were talking. Not that she was bitter, or anything. Bruce had  _never_ kept either of them out of the loop before, and it had  _certainly_ never had detrimental effects or anything.

Okay, so the weather was seriously impacting her mood. Robin had better get back with that hot cocoa soon.

“Any change?”

“What do you think?”

“I think father just wanted an excuse to have us out of the cave.” Robin moved unnecessarily close to hand her her drink, and stayed there.

“Maybe he’s testing us; trying to see how long we can stand being out here.” You know, it didn’t feel all that awkward to have him so close.

“Or maybe he’s trying to see how long it takes us to realize that this is a wild goose chase.” Really, it was actually pretty comfortable.

“And what? Burst in there and start a fight? Or head back home?” It was probably because he was so much warmer than the frigid rain starting to soak through her costume.

“He’ll find fault with us either way. We might as well stand here until they call us back.” As long as Robin stayed close, Batgirl was surprisingly okay with that.

 

II.

During the summer, Gotham was prone to unpredictable storms. One minute the sky would be clear, the next you would find yourself soaked to the bone. Five minutes later and it would be over, and the humidity the storm left behind would leave you wishing to move to a desert.

Stephanie had been on her way to one of her summer classes (seriously, it was so messed up that she had to go to summer school in  _Grad school_ ) when she got caught in one of these storms. Knowing that the pouring rain would soak through her bag and ruin the paper that was due in today’s class, she took refuge beneath the awning of a nearby building. At this rate, she would definitely be late to class, and her professor would probably chew her out.

Steph was debating the merits of making a run for it when a familiar tanned hand moved into her line of sight. Looking up (and it was so weird that she had to look  _up_  these days), she saw Damian Wayne frowning and holding out a large black umbrella towards her. “What are you doing here?”

“Earlier, I was following a lead on a case. Now? I’m trying to walk you to class. Weren’t you bitching last night about the paper you had due today?”

 

——

_Don’t take my arm too much_

 

Damian didn’t bother to explain where the were going, he just grabbed her arm and pulled her along after him. The only reason Steph didn’t dig her heels in and demand an explanation was because she caught sight of the eager smile Damian was trying desperately to hide. When they arrived at the brightly colored moon bounce, Stephanie couldn’t help the joyous laughter that bubbled past her lips. Damian smirked at her before pulling her inside. They cheerily ignored the attendants protestations about weight limits.

 

——

_Don’t keep your hand in mine_

_(Your hand feels so grand in mine)_

 

Things had happened so quickly, it was a bit of a blur. Batgirl had been swinging midair when her line had been cut. In that horrifying moment of clarity between feeling the line go slack and free fall, she had been certain that she was about to die. Salvation had appeared in a good looking, brightly colored package, and Batgirl knew she’d survive even before his hand caught her own. They landed roughly on top of a nearby building, in a tangle of limbs and capes. Even after they’d pulled themselves together, Batgirl and Robin didn’t let go of each other’s hands.

 

——

_Don’t dance all night with me_

_'Till the stars fade from above_

 

I.

As Bruce Wayne’s youngest - and only biological- son it was expected that Damian would celebrate his eighteenth birthday in a certain style. He was getting an overblown celebration that was filled with ridiculous decorations, obnoxious music, enough food to feed a third world nation, and attended by all of Gotham’s glitterati. After greeting the fiftieth scantily clad socialite, Damian sorely wished he’d been able to have a quiet rooftop party like the one they’d thrown for Stephanie when she completed her masters degree a few months ago.

Damian was capable of making polite conversation and acting charming, but he despised the falseness of it all, the way it felt like he was using these people somehow. The fact that a lot of them were trying to use him too didn’t change things. The way Grayson and his father acted at these events didn’t help Damian’s view, and it was somehow discouraging that Drake was the one who’s “party persona” seemed even slightly genuine. The birthday boy was ready to give this night up as a total loss.

Someone pinched him. Correction: someone had snuck up on him and pinched his behind. Damian whirled to face his molester, only to to come face to face with an impishly grinning Stephanie Brown.

“It’s a 'pinch so you’ll grow an inch.'” She eyed him up and down, “Not that you need it.”

“I thought you weren’t coming. You were supposed to be on patrol tonight.”

“I called in a favor; there’s no way I was gonna miss your big birthday bash.” Steph gave the sparkling crowds a skeptical look, “Although I’m starting to rethink that. I’m pretty sure patrolling the docks would be more fun.”

Damian hummed in agreement, “I’ve been desperately wishing that one of the Arkham Crowd would decide to crash the party since the third time the Mayor’s daughter offered to 'give me a private party.'”

That earned a snicker from his blonde companion. “Ah, the trials of being young, rich, and good looking. What do you say we ditch the couture crowd and look for trouble among the hoi polloi?”

“My father will be furious.”

“Just tell him that you were acting like someone in your position is supposed to; busting out of a boring party to hang with a wilder crowd until dawn.”

“Do you actually think he’ll accept that?”

“Do you actually care if he does?”

“When can we leave?”

 

II.

When Cass fought, she was as graceful as a dancer. Stephanie would never achieve that kind of grace, and she was perfectly fine with that. All that mattered to her was that her moves were effective. Damian was trained to perform every punch and kick with absolute precision. He was determined that every blow he delivered in combat was done with maximum efficiency. When the two fought together, they were like couples who knew each other’s dance steps perfectly, and were able to compensate for every movement the other made.

 

——

_They’ll see it’s alright with me_

_People will say we’re in love!_

 

Bruce had been blind to the emerging situation, while Tim had deliberately dismissed any indications he had seen. So it was fitting that they would be the first ones to know of the new developments in Damian and Stephanie’s relationship. It must have been quite a shock for them to walk into the kitchen that morning and find Damian leaning over the breakfast bar, passionately kissing Stephanie. Their breakfast and coffee had been forgotten, and the newspaper had fallen to the floor at some point. They ignored this, and the newly arrived spectators, in favor of making out like teenagers (which, to be fair, Damian still was. For a few months, at least).

Bruce tried to form words, without success. This was probably because he couldn’t seem to pick his jaw up off the floor. Tim rubbed at his eyes desperately, convinced that he was seeing things. Which supervillain had he run into recently that could make this particular nightmare a reality?

When Dick arrived, he casually brushed past his stunned family members and made his way to the coffee machine. The couple was completely oblivious to his presence as the ex-acrobat prepared his morning libations. When he took note of Bruce and Tim’s shocked expressions, Dick scoffed.

“And you call yourselves detectives. The Gotham Gazette called this one  _years_  ago.”


End file.
